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‘Oh, come on, Dante.’ Should she tell him that the sight of all those baubles had made her heart ache every time she’d looked at them? Jewels which most women would long to own had seemed to represent nothing but failure. They’d reminded her of the man she’d loved and lost—and who could live with that? ‘Since when did any woman ever wear stuff given to her by her ex-fiancé?’
The bell rang for dinner, putting an end to their discussion—but Dante found himself remembering one sentence in particular which his lawyer had drummed into him. “Independent women make the worst adversaries in any custody battle, Dante. A needy woman is always much more amenable.”
If that was the case then no female on the planet could be more fiercely independent than the one who stood in front of him. ‘Come on,’ he said abruptly. ‘Let’s go.’
Justina was aware that his mood was cool as they walked along the stone-flagged corridor, and tentatively she linked her arm through his, wanting him to lose that hard and grim expression. ‘So who else will be at dinner?’ she questioned softly. ‘Apart from your mother.’
‘My brother, obviously. You remember Luigi?’
‘How could I forget?’
‘And my sister has travelled from Rome to be here. My cousins are eager to meet you again, but I felt that it might be a bit much to subject you to mass scrutiny on your first evening. So we’ll save that for another day.’
She let go of his arm just before they walked into the main salon, where Dante’s brother was throwing a large log onto the fire.
‘Hello, Luigi,’ Justina said quietly, and he looked up. He was as tall and as powerfully built as his brother, but his skin had the darker glow of someone who spent their life working outside. Dante had told her that Luigi had run the vast estate since the death of their father, and was now one of the world’s leading wine experts. She thought that his eyes were cool and watchful as he greeted her.
‘Justina,’ he said. ‘This is an unexpected pleasure.’
She smiled up at him. ‘It’s good to see you again.’
‘Indeed. And I believe I must congratulate you on giving birth to my brother’s child?’
‘Thank you,’ she said, thinking that was a characteristically possessive D’Arezzo way of phrasing it.
‘Now, what can I get you to drink?’
She was longing for one of the glasses of prosecco which stood on a tray, but she was mindful of the fact that she was breastfeeding—so her nerves would have to remain ruffled. ‘Some fizzy water would be perfect.’
At that moment a beautiful girl ran into the room, her arms outstretched in greeting. Giulia D’Arezzo was the only female in the family, and rather more demonstrative than both her brothers, and Justina found herself laughing as she was enveloped in an enthusiastic hug.
‘Oh, Jus! I’m so happy to see you again—I can’t tell you! I’ve only just arrived—the traffic from Rome was atrocious. Am I too late to see Nico? Have you put him to bed already?’
‘I’m afraid I have—or rather Dante has.
Babies of Nico’s age seem to spend most of their time sleeping—but we can creep down later and peep at him if you like,’ said Justina. ‘Giulia, you look wonderful.’
‘Grazie. And so do you—though your dress is much longer than the ones you used to wear! Why are you blushing when what I say is true? Now, tell me, are you still making sweet music?’ Giulia demanded. ‘And why did you stop sending me your albums?’
The warmth of Giulia’s welcome made Justina relax, as did the flames from the flickering fire. She sipped at her drink, listening to the younger woman’s chatter and managing to skirt around the subject of why she’d felt it was best not to let her friendship with Dante’s sister continue. Because that would have been impossible, wouldn’t it? She’d needed to cut all ties with the D’Arezzo family once he’d called off their engagement.
By the time they sat down to dinner she had begun to feel genuinely hungry—though she was seated next to Luigi, who seemed to have some sort of not-very-hidden agenda going on. He asked her how her songwriting was going, and when she tried to play it down told her that he’d read recently that one of her songs had been at number one in Australia. But he said it as if she’d committed a crime instead of doing something to be proud of.
The pasta course was cleared away and Luigi poured himself a glass of red wine, nodding his head approvingly when she refused the same. ‘You are intending to go back to work, I suppose?’ he enquired, leaning back in his chair to look at her.
‘Well, I need to support myself,’ answered Justina equably.
‘But surely you have accumulated enough money during your career never to have to work again?’
It was a question she got asked all the time—but people always underestimated how much money you needed to live on for the rest of your life. Justina had seen people
lose their fortunes and be left scraping around and had vowed it would never happen to her. She’d seen for herself what could happen to women who didn’t work. She’d seen her own mother clinging to rich men who discarded her when someone younger and prettier came along.
‘I have a very strong work ethic,’ she said carefully. ‘And besides, the work I do is very flexible.’
‘I’m sure it is.’ Luigi ran a fingertip around the tip of his wine glass. ‘But what will happen to Nico while you are occupied with this songwriting of yours? Will you be able to concentrate? Will you hear him above the music if he cries out for his mamma?’
‘Luigi,’ said Dante warningly.
